


My Support Bubble

by hobbeshalftail3469



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith, Strike (TV 2017)
Genre: Arsenal versus Chelsea, COVID 19 restrictions, F/M, Strike has drunk a LOT, Strike wants to celebrate, The FA Cup Final, abruptly ended phone call, let's leave this chapter on a cliffhanger!, microwave chips, more tags to follow for chapter 2, phone calls to Ellacott, probably alcohol has loosened his tongue, tomato ketchup is required
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:40:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25667575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobbeshalftail3469/pseuds/hobbeshalftail3469
Summary: The muse has been very reluctant recently, so nobody was as surprised as me when the FA Cup Final match yesterday flicked it into action - my knowledge (lack of) football is legendary despite Mr Hobbes being a Liverpool FC season ticket holder (and therefore incredibly happy at his recent teams' win.....of something that involved a big trophy!)This came about from wanting to write about my fave pair of idiots, and I thought about Cormoran watching his team and being desperate to celebrate.....but that pesky COVID 19 thing has massively affected all of that.So of course Robin is his first choice.There are probably a few English based facts that I will explain in the notes which are specific to Coronavirus guidance (and I am specifying English as we currently have different rules in place in England, Wales and Scotland!)
Relationships: Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Comments: 49
Kudos: 59





	1. I should be celebrating!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LulaIsAKitten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LulaIsAKitten/gifts).



> OK, a brief rundown of English guidelines and rules since the whole lockdown thing started in March this year, which you will need to have a vague grasp of to understand this:  
> When we went into lockdown EVERYTHING closed, except for supermarkets selling food, hospitals and schools. Nobody was allowed to interact in ANY WAY with anyone outside their own household and supermarkets had a few weeks of complete madness with very little on the shelves as people panic bought....especially toilet paper!  
> This remained in place for quite a while, the Government introduced a furlough scheme meaning that companies which were unable to work from home could have their staff's wages paid (up to about 80% of their wages) by the government. This remains in place but is being phased out now as we try to return to normal with the government paying less of teh wage amount and businesses starting to be asked to pay more. Most mortgages, rents and credit card companies offered payment holidays so that people didn't have to pay bills for a few months if they needed that.  
> Around about May time the government introduced a new ruling which affected people living alone - meaning they were able to have one other person as their 'Support Bubble' in order to avoid mental health issues linked to loneliness - it was mainly for the elderly, meaning that for example I was able to visit my own mum who lives alone and sit outside to talk with her in the garden, maintaining a 2m distance.  
> So I have Corm and Robin as each others' and initially they would have been able to talk from the doorway or walk around outside whilst maintaining a 2m distance.  
> By the start of June the restrictions lifted a little more and people were allowed into the same house - but only minimal people and again, no contact, and the 2m rule reduced to 1m. Stuff in the shops had started to get back to normal too, but flour remained something that was really hard to come by! Workplaces were allowed to reopen as long as they had in place lots of strict measures to safeguard and maintain social distancing.  
> Then a couple of weeks ago the restrictions on pubs were lifted - first we were allowed to use them but only outside (not particularly useful in a country where it rains so much!) and then we were allowed inside, but lots of social distancing rules and limited numbers. We can now eat in some restaurants, but it is quite limited....and Strike would DEFINITELY consider it a pain in the arse!  
> We now have to wear a face covering in shops, on public transport and when buying take aways and large groups gathering in places like pubs, at sports stadiums etc are still banned - hence Strike would not have been able to be part of a gathering in a pub (he would have been able to host a gathering of him, Wardle and Nick in one of their houses....but that's why I needed them to be busy!)  
> OK....if you made it through that brief history of English COIVID 19 restrictions, Well Done!....I feel you should have a test and a certificate!.....however, read and enjoy instead!
> 
> Oh....and Lula.....our socially distanced squee might not have resulted in any Scott action, but maybe those other fics might now get written....whatever we did it has got the muse interested again! Thanks hon! x x

Strike was loudly counting down the final seconds of additional time.   
The extended period needed to deal with what looked like a rather nasty shoulder injury to Pedro had drawn out the tension he’d been dealing with for the previous 90 plus minutes.  
The FA Cup Final between Arsenal and Chelsea would usually have been a noisy, male bonding experience in a pub. But nothing in 2020 was usual.  
Covid 19; that tiny invisible virus had seen to that.

As it was Strike had made the most of it; his team were the rank outsiders, and Chelsea having scored the first goal had felt like the start of a dreadful evening...but they’d managed to draw level and then that second goal had clinched it!

He’d drunk his way through a clinking collection of beer, nibbled on savoury snacks rather than have to risk leaving the screen and possible action in order to cook something more substantial, and so consequently he discovered he was rather more pissed than was probably wise when he attempted to stand up and evacuate his bladder.  
He sat to pee and tapped out what was probably a grammatically spurious couple of texts to Wardle (who was working) and Nick (also bloody working! - pair of bastards!) before dragging himself back to his feet, flushing and narrating outloud (he’d refused point blank to SING the suggested lyrics!) as he washed his hands to the tune of a ridiculous version of Sweet Caroline by Neil Diamond which Robin had insisted they use to ensure they’d spent the full amount of time on the task!

The initial lockdown had been a pain in the arse.  
They’d of course been forced to close down the offices, and although they’d managed to get a load of back dated paperwork completed, and via Zoom meetings had kept in touch and discussed current cases, including with Hutchins and Barclay, they’d had no new work for the first couple of months.  
They’d managed to make use of the government furlough scheme to ensure they kept everyone on the payroll, and through a combination of payment holidays and using up savings and credit card balances were both just about afloat by the time they were allowed to reopen and start taking on new business.  
He’d put in place stringent workplace measures, including a taped off one way system for walking in and out of the office’s single door; which had involved moving Robin’s desk and chair.   
As soon as they were back in business they’d been asked to look into a huge number of private cases involving suspected affairs - Strike had repeatedly wondered how the fuck people had been doing this given the fact that nobody could “Go outside and fart without people noticing it!”  
Still, they had cleared up several smaller cases very quickly thanks to their combined IT skills and what appeared to be frankly idiotic spouses - whom Robin had wondered “How is it possible for two women to have thought they were a catch?”  
Thus, they had brought in a small amount of cash and the business was eeking itself out - albeit with Barclay and Hutchins still technically furloughed until needed.

And so, his interactions with Robin were now more normal - he saw her Monday to Friday.   
They’d actually been able to end the week with a drink at the Tottenham a couple of weeks ago. They just couldn’t have any kind of physical contact.  
And much as he’d always enjoyed being able to guide her though doorways with a palm to her back, or try to sneak a finger graze when accepting or presenting a mug of tea to her, this was fine.  
It was allowing him a reason to put the barrier back up; to sort out his equilibrium which had completely let him down and started to be a complete unbalanced liability since her divorce and since he’d broken up with his most recent female interest.

They’d joked when the government had introduced the concept of ‘support bubbles’ - people living alone having been able to meet up with one other person from a different household several weeks ago - but without either having to ask it had just become accepted between them that they would take this role for each other.   
First Robin had turned up at the flat bearing painkillers, cigarettes, home made coffee cake and toilet roll one day; then Strike had managed to buy flour (which he knew was harder to find than cocaine in the lockdown craziness) and he’d walked across London in order to deliver it to her as he knew baking was something that was keeping her sane!

And so it had continued with a weekly ‘something’, a reason to meet up and chat from the doorway, or walk outside and sit in Soho Square eating Twix bars whilst maintaining a 2m distance apart.

The recommendations had eased; 2m had become 1m; from doorways had become ‘inside as long as it was only the person who formed your support bubble’; and then they’d been able to go back to the pub.

He’d found it all OK....the non business side anyway.  
Generally speaking he disliked other people and found his own company preferable, but the FA Cup Final!  
He would have been there!   
He’d have somehow got a ticket and he’d have been shouting and swearing and showing more emotions than most Englishmen ever showed in public whilst surrounded by complete strangers.

But he wasn’t.

And although being able to hear the shouting of Ian Wright from the commentary box had been an amusing addition to the match, he was now feeling like he needed to share his joy.

His team had won!  
If he knew of a Liverpool supporter he could have rung them up - they’d know how he felt.  
Winning and then having to keep in the pent up thrill!

He didn’t know any though.

But he had a support bubble!

Robin would be there for him….she always was.  
He therefore shoved a box of microwave chips in and found the salt and tomato ketchup he’d need as they twirled around in their lit up spotlight.  
Even the chips were having more fun celebrating than him!

He dialled Robin’s number.

R: Hey! How did it go? Am I consoling or cheering with you?

Cormoran could sense that she was grinning as she spoke, and also got the feeling that she had been half expecting his call.  
It made him feel smug…..a bit sozzled, but smug!

C : WE ARE the WINNNNERRRRRS!  
He shouted down the phone, raising his fist and dislodging the flip top on the ketchup as he brought it back down to the counter top.

R: Well, I’m very glad.

C: You don’t mean that Rob’n…..you couldn’t give a rat’s arse ‘bout football!

R: I do mean it! If Arsenal had lost you’d have been a right grumpy bugger on Monday!

Strike sniggered; the way she said that word always made him smile.

C: Y’re prob’ly right. BUT as it is I have no reas’n to be a grumpy bugger….but I’yam a bit.

The ping of the microwave sounded and Robin nodded, she was slightly happier that at least he was eating something - his voice was making it very clear that he had drunk quite a lot.

R: Why are you a bit grumpy? You sound like you’ve had a lovely time….you sound like you’ve drunk a lot!

Again, Cormoran could sense that she was smiling rather than admonishing him and he exhaled noisily as he grappled with the ketchup and box of hot chips in one hand whilst making his way across to his large armchair.

C : Well…..y’see….I should be cel’bratin...an’ I have drunk a lot Rob’n…..in fact I’yam legless….as opposed to being partially legless!  
He chuckled, boyishly at his own joke, making Robin cover her giggling mouth as she could picture his wrinkle nosed expression of mirth.

R : Are you eating chips?

C: Yep! Fuckin’ hot chips…..but good chips and b’fore you say anythin’ I am obv’sly applyin’ the required Ellacott level of ketchup to chip ratio!

She heard him make a throaty noise, which could have been satisfaction, wind or pain….without a visual clue it was a bit unclear.

R: You OK?

C: Rob’n….you’re a very nice person you know. You’re my s’pport bubble...in every way you know that?

Robin smiled and pouted…..he was clearly very soused if he was at the telling her she was a nice person stage of the evening.  
That had occasionally reared its head when they had been at Nick and Ilsa’s eating curry and playing drunk board games, but she hadn’t heard it for a while.

He continued,  
C: An’ I hope you know that I wouldn’ want anyone else to be my s’pport bubble…...only you….f’rever. But the whole no touching and not close thing is…..is v’ey hard Rob’n. [hic] 

Robin made a soft ‘Mmmhmmm’ noise down the phone.   
Drunk or not it was always nice to hear Strike saying nice things about her.  
She had realised that her feelings for Strike were stronger than the friendship she tried to tell herself was all they could ever share.   
It might be taking advantage of his drunken state, but she didn’t care.

C : Are you listenin’ Rob’n? B’cos I’m being v’ry serious…..despite bein’ a bit pissed an’ legless.  
He chuckled again at his own hilarity.

C: I need you as my s’pport bubble pers’n Rob’n even after this disease thing has gone away and we don’t have to sing Neil Diamond songs to wash our ‘ands.  
The hiccup this time turned into a rather muffled belch.

R: Good. I’m glad about that Cormoran. I need you to be in my life….you make it…..good.

C: I’m so ve’y glad I do. An’ you…[hic]....you do same!

At this point he remembered his chips and opened the cardboard lid, releasing the plume of nuclear steam. He realised that he’d not brought across the salt and considered doing without, but also realised that he’d left his beer on the work top too, so he balanced the box on the arm of the chair; his tongue sticking between his lips in concentration; and made his way across to retrieve them both whilst still talking to Robin, enjoying that he could hear her sigh a little, in a happy sort of way down the phone.

C: Y’see….Rob’n…..you understand me….you don’t try an’ change me or make me deal with stuff…..I jus’ want to do all that b’cos I want to be as nice a pers’n as you are. B’cos you ARE a very, very nice person Rob’n….an I wish the virus had gone so that I could hug you tight and kiss your hand again. B’cos it felt lovely when I did that.

Robin was beaming at her end of the phone. This was ridiculous….he was clearly drunk as a skunk and would forget everything he was saying, or worse still, remember and regret it…..but she also felt that he needed to share his feelings.  
And OK, it was probably a rush of endorphins released from seeing his beloved Arsenal win some football thing….but fuck it!

R : I could just as easily say all that about you too you know!

She pressed her lips together upon hearing his growled whimper down the phone - that was definitely not wind, that one was definitely a release of happy delight.

C: Rob’n I’m feeling a bit sleepy now…...think I need to eat and not throw up or drop anything…..OH FUCK!

There was a load combination of banging, further swearing and finally the sound of the call being ended.

What the hell had he done?

Her first thoughts of course, which annoyed her - because she knew it would annoy him - was that he’d fallen awkwardly.  
He was clearly drunk as hell, and his mention of throwing up had her instantly envisaging him choking on his own vomit.

She grabbed her boots, jacket, bag and face mask and hurried out to the tube.  
She’d tried to avoid it and had been walking a lot more, but needs must.

In his attic flat Strike was slumped across the arm of his chair; his arm stretched out but couldn’t quite reach the mobile phone, and the fact that his head had dropped below his heart had intensified the feelings of blurry tiredness that had snuck up on him. His breath was raspy.  
A patch of red seeped across his thigh.


	2. Is it trouser time again?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obviously Robin arrives and saves the day.  
> This is really quite sickly sweet in the end!

30 minutes later Robin let herself into the building and clambered swiftly up the curled staircase to reach the door to Strike’s flat. She knocked briskly and opened it without waiting for any invitation.

Her imagination had been going wild since slamming the door of her own flat behind her.  
He had clearly knocked himself unconscious…..or fallen onto a protruding blade…..or one of many other highly improbable and implausible theories which had crossed her mind as she donned her mask and sat trying to make contact with Strike’s phone and receiving no response.

“Cormoran?” she announced, followed by a hasty, “Oh my God…..SHIT!”  
She hurried across to the slumped body of her work colleague.

He was drooling and groaning, half tumbling out of the armchair, and as she approached him she saw the patch of thick red liquid on the thigh of his jeans.

“Jesus Christ, Cormroan….talk to me, oh fuck!” she shouted, grabbing his lolling body and shaking it vigorously. “Christ, don’t be bloody unconscious you sodding idiot!”

He became aware of her instantly and instinctively grabbed hold of her wrist firmly and forcefully before realising it was Robin.  
Robin, his support bubble and amber haired saviour.

“Cormoran let go, I need to get you sat up and deal with this….stay there….oh God!” 

He relaxed his grip on her wrist long enough for her to hold his face steady between her palms and peer into his glassy eyed expression.  
“Wow,” he mumbled, “You have gorgeous eyes…...and sooo many of them!”

Apparently satisfied enough with what she saw reflected she gave a sharp nod and left him.  
He was aware of the sound of running water and the familiar tune of Sweet Caroline, although being sung at far too fast a tempo, and a couple of moments later she was back, kneeling beside him and to his alarm was tackling his belt and trouser fastenings in a manner which made him both aroused and bemused in equal measure.

“Rob’n….this is not what bubbles do…..I know I said celebrating Arsenal...but….this isn’t……” his voice tailed off as he automatically and still incomprehensibly lifted himself using the arms of his chair to enable her to start pulling down his jeans.....this might be a folly, but who was he to prevent Robin from getting into his pants!

“Just help me for God’s sake. I need to find how you’ve hurt yourself,” and she indicated the red stain with a flick of her hand before giving a sharp sniff.

Strike was still somewhat baffled by her apparent fixation with what was beneath his trousers and he relaxed back into the chair in order to pinch his forearm firmly to be assured that this wasn’t some whacked out new version of his familiar Robin dream.....if it wasn't he might add a few of these new developments!

His lips curved into a lopsided smirk as her fingers reached out to stroke his thigh and he continued to garble.  
“S’just a s’pport bubble Rob’n….s’all it can be...an’ you should be a metre away….or be wearing a mask…. like a bandit…..s’abit kinky.What you doin’?” his voice went up several octaves as Robin trailed her red tipped finger towards her nose and then her tongue slipped out between her lips in order to lick it.

He was a little disappointed when she fell back on her haunches, although he noticed that her hands were still in contact with his calf and knee and she was grinning.

“What?” he asked, with an expression of baffled, pouting adoration aimed directly at her…..it was powerful stuff this close up….and she was sober!

“It’s tomato ketchup!” she stated, wrinkling her eyes and letting out a belly laugh borne from relief and genuine amusement at his reaction of staring at his groin.

“I know!” he muttered, “The lid wasn’t on proper an’ it went everywhere and I dropped the phone, an’ then when I reached for it it slipped an’ then….I had a little sleep….an’ then you were here taking my trousers off!”

Robin realised that her hands were resting on his legs but didn’t consider removing them, she just stared at the gloriously honest and open, and slightly sleepy’ green eyes of Cormoran.

“You didn’t answer your phone….I rang loads….I was worried,” she said, realising that her left hand was inexplicably massaging his knee, and also that he wasn’t moving away.

“Couldn’t reach it….and when I tried I dropped the ketchup and I ended our call…..bloody thing slipped even further away….it’s there,” and he indicated towards the dining chair at his tiny table.  
Robin glanced and reached over to retrieve it, flashing the screen at him and rolling her eyes at the missed calls.

“All from me!” she stated, but then hastily covered her statement, “Or…..anyone else I suppose….whoever you’re seeing...or….not seeing because of this lockdown thing.”

Cormoran allowed a tiny curl to his lips.  
“They’ll all be from you,” he mumbled, “You’re my bubble…..my Robbbbin bubb-ble….bloody hell that’s hard to say after a few beers!”

His eyes glittered as Robin laughed at him; because of him…….he liked that he could make her laugh…….it made things a lot sexier that they shared a sense of humour.

“A few?” she quipped, bobbing her finger and moving her lips over the empty collection of bottles, “I’d hardly call nine a few!”

“I take it my trouser removal is no longer on the cards,” he exclaimed, pouting like a petulant pug and flicking his unfastened belt buckle with his index finger.

Robin considered the situation and did that business-like flicking of her long hair over one shoulder before she answered, “Well, now that I’m here I might as well make sure you get to bed….I’d feel a lot happier knowing that you’re….safe.”

He huffed out his breath slightly, his expression turning narrowed and harsh suddenly.  
“Well, you’re not s’pposed to be this close so….you should, jus’ go,” he quipped, avoiding her gaze.

She cleared her throat and sensed that his hackles had got up due to his perception that she was worried due to his leg!

“I thought you wanted to celebrate! And anyway, you said yourself...I’m your support bubble….I’m allowed this close as long as I wash my hands!” and she hoisted herself up onto her feet, stripped off her jacket, which she hadn’t taken off due to being preoccupied with his potential thigh wound. “Come on…..bed!”

“What?” his alcohol soaked brain tried to connect the missing dots as to how his fortunes had changed so dramatically, but somehow picked up on her crisp, matter of fact manner rather than any degree of sexy seduction. Even pissed it was disappointing!

She allowed him to get himself upright and went across to his small kitchen, finding a pint glass and filling it with cold water from the tap as he stumbled and swayed his way the short distance towards his bedroom.  
When she joined him he was seated on the edge of the bed which almost filled the room.   
He had not been wearing footwear, just a pair of rather snuggly looking dark, red socks and he was wrinkling his nose at the state of his jeans and the rugby style sweatshirt he was wearing, which was emblazoned with the Arsenal badge on his left pec.  
“S’gonna need washin’,” he grumbled, “Didn’t even eat all the chips!”

“Sacrilege!” she stated, in a mock stern manner, which caused him to stifle a groan. “Come on, let me help so you don’t get this in your hair!”

“Don’t wanna spoil the style!” he quipped, giggling as he obediently lifted his arms, allowing Robin to bundle the top over his head in a manner which he’d seen her use when undressing his youngest nephew after a travel sickness incident when they’d visited Cornwall together.  
He hummed at the recollection…..when all this virus crap was over he wanted to take her there again.

“There,” she sighed, trying to focus on the fact that her friend and colleague needed her help rather than the fact that his chest and shoulders were incredibly broad, and muscular…..and she hadn’t had so much as a sniff of any sexual based action in months!

“Is it trouser time again?” he grinned, waggling his eyebrows, or at least attempting to and gazing up at her, looking like the most ridiculously masculine little boy ever to get ready for bed.  
The sight brought out Robin’s maternal instinct; which was considerably more helpful to the situation at hand and she nodded, “Yes, but I think you can manage….do you need a pee before you do though….once your leg’s off I don’t fancy my chances getting you there…...and I can’t see any empty noodle pots!”

He winced and slumped, “You knew?!”

“I figured!” she stated, shrugging and grinning.

He shook his head as he pulled his jeans carefully down his thighs so as not to dislodge any more of the ketchup stains. He couldn’t quite believe that Robin had guessed that he’d pissed in a noodle pot and yet had still offered to get rid of it for him!

Actually, he DID believe it.  
That was Robin through and through…..no side to her at all.   
No judgement, just practicality, quiet understanding without making a fuss.

She’d been his support bubble for years longer than the bloody Coronavirus had been in existence!

“I’m alright this time, “ he nodded, pausing as his fingers found the fabric cuff of his prosthesis.   
She moved to place the glass of water on his bedside cabinet and by the time she walked back round to him he’d removed his limb and was slipping under the duvet.  
It always amused Robin that his bedding featured what she considered un-Strike-like motifs - he’d had a bright red one covered in flowers which she’d seen a few times and this current one featured rather whimsical ducks on a grey background.  
“What’s with the ducks?” she asked, indicating the bedding he was tugging into place.

He glanced at it and grinned, “Present from Wardle….’pparently most of my texts to ‘im feature the word ‘duck’ ….bloody autocorrect thing….it’s never, ever duck!....” and he trailed off feeling that she could fill in the rest.

She encouraged him to snuggle down, which he did, and satisfied herself that he was comfortable.  
“Right…..do NOT get up at stupid o’clock and start working!” she stated, wagging a finger at him as his face reflected disappointment.

“Where’re you goin’? I might…...need more support bubble stuff,” he said, his voice muffled by cotton. “Stay here.....do hands washin' an' stay…...please?”

Robin glanced at her watch and twisted her lips. It was gone 11 o’clock and she didn’t fancy tackling the tube and the walk to her small, empty flat.

“It’s allowed…...support bubble and wash your hands and stay there…..bit less than a metre, but not touching or anythin’,” his eyes were closing already on his pillow, and Robin considered her options.  
Government guidelines had relaxed over staying in the home of someone else - as long as it wasn’t being silly - and she was in work contact with Strike everyday anyway….and she could stay over the covers rather than under…….and then he blinked and looked at her through his now bed soft green eyes; and she remembered what he’d said earlier on the phone.  
And yes, OK, she knew he was drunk, but he’d said that he wished he could hug her and kiss her hand again….because it had been lovely.

“Alright…...but no touching!” she smiled softly, and giggled as he snuggled further under the covers.  
She removed her boots and lay out on the space beside him of the bed, twisting onto her side and finding herself facing his grinning face.

“What are you smiling at?” she asked, giggling.

“Just because…….we won...today, s’a good day,” he sighed and exhaled a hot fug of slightly tobacco scented breath.

Robin nodded, “Oh yeah….football, Arsenal won…..well done,” and she moved her hands to prop up her cheek on his pillows.

“Thank you for coming to rescue me by the way Rob’n, s’very nice thing to do….s’pport bubble….my bubble,” he mumbled, becoming more slurred and difficult to understand as sleep started to take over.

“S’OK…...you’re my bubble too you know,” she murmured, trying to maintain the calmness and almost magical atmosphere between them in the room.   
It wasn’t a sexual energy; it was more than that; it was a simple, uncomplicated understanding that they were exactly what the other needed in that moment….and maybe always.

“Jus’ out of curios’ty, wha’ would you have done if it really had been blood…..on my jeans?” he asked, yawning and exhaling the hot air beneath the duvet.  
Robin considered the question - truly she hadn’t got a clue!   
But due to the proximity of them to the offices her thoughts flashed back to the night she’d saved him from John Briscoe. 

“I’d have staunched the flow with a scarf,” she heard him hum beside her, his eyelids softly closed, “Then if necessary I’d have evened it up to your other one with a kitchen knife,” and she felt the bed quiver, like a vibrating mattress, with his laughter.

He drifted his way into a blissful, if slightly euphorically induced sleep wishing that he and Robin could remain locked in their little, private, Covid induced bubble…...maybe forever.  
Although….perhaps a vaccine would be OK too…..that way he’d be able to reach across now and at least hold her hand.  
But he knew that if he opened his eyes she would be there…..that was enough for now.  
He was definitely a winner!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The bedding set I am envisaging is a lovely one from my beloved, and soon to be no more Laura Ashley.......my damn phone STILL thinks I want to discuss ducks with Lula all the time.....IT IS NEVER DUCK!


End file.
